


The Hale Show

by melo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Implied Voyeurism, M/M, The Truman Show AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:33:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melo/pseuds/melo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stardom is worth a lot of things, but Stiles isn't sure if it's worth <i>this</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hale Show

**Author's Note:**

> The Truman Show AU sans werewolves.

It isn’t supposed to be like this.

It’s late – or early – in the quiet plateau between deep night and first light, and Stiles can’t sleep. Stiles hasn’t gotten a wink of rest in more than twenty-four hours and he should be beyond exhausted, but there’s a nervous energy thrumming through his veins, right down to his toes, and his eyelids snap back open each time he tries to shut them, held open by adrenalin and muscles that are too tense.

With his eyes wide open, Stiles has nothing to do but survey the room and observe his surroundings. He’s in a bedroom that’s as familiar as his own, though it isn’t his. The room is small, almost cozy even if it lacks the personal effects a bedroom should have. There aren’t any framed photographs – not even any wrinkled snapshots tucked into the edge of the wardrobe mirror – and the walls are plain and unadorned. There are no souvenirs lying around or random trinkets that were purchased on a whim. The room is cozy only because it looks lived in with poorly folded garments piled on the scuffed footlocker, a ragged sweatshirt hanging on the back of the only chair, and hastily discarded clothes strewn across the floor.   

Admittedly, that last bit has more to do with the evening’s activities than the carelessness of the homeowner, but the room is basically the same. Stiles knows it so well that he could even sort the laundry into the wardrobe while blindfolded or choose the wall colour from a library of paint chips. Stiles knows this room, and he thought he knew the man beside him as well, but things are always different when they’re close enough to touch. It isn’t supposed to be like this, but now Stiles is close enough to touch, Stiles is close enough to _feel_ , and what he feels is everything he shouldn’t; it’s everything he agreed he would not do.    

Derek’s flesh is warm under Stiles’ palm, the muscle firm beneath smooth skin, but overall it’s softer than what he’d expected, and – well – Stiles had expected solid rock, so it’s understandable. Derek had always looked like male perfection, like a model off the cover of GQ or the marble statue of a Greek god. The reality isn’t disappointing but it – it shakes something loose inside of Stiles. It’s the fine hair on Derek’s arms, the silver scars like spider webs on Derek’s knuckles, the uneven cuticles on Derek’s fingers and the sand under Derek’s brittle fingernails. It’s all the little details that Stiles only sees now, lying awake while Derek sleeps soundly beside him, so trusting, so vulnerable. Stiles wants to hide that pale skin, that flesh which is neither hot nor cold, but warm in the way that sleeping bodies are warm.

The attempt is futile, but Stiles pulls the covers higher to conceal Derek’s bare chest, the soft rise and fall of his breath, the faint constellation of freckles on his left shoulder. Derek grumbles in his sleep and Stiles draws him near, tucking Derek’s head beneath his chin and letting the older man nuzzle unconsciously closer.

It seems impossible that only three months ago, Stiles had sat sweating in a polished office almost four times the size of Derek’s bedroom, in an interview with the executive producer himself. He’d been so sure that he wouldn’t pass muster after the way Gerard had grilled him, dissecting him with his eyes and wearing a small, unimpressed smile, but apparently Stiles had that little something The Hale Show had been lacking. Comic relief, probably. Regardless, Stiles had choked on his Cheerios when he got the call naming him Possible Love Interest #3.

It is a well known fact that Gerard treats the Hale Show like his baby – however creepy that is – so to be personally interviewed and then _chosen_ by Gerard was the balm that Stiles used to soothe the sting of whispered insults. It didn’t matter that the less talented actors called him a glorified porn star. Stiles is the one acting in an internationally acclaimed television show, not them, and if special viewers want to pay for exclusive content... Stiles really had been a porn star, anyway.

Stiles might even _still_ be considered a porn star, but he’d never felt ashamed of it. Not until now. Not until after he signed Gerard’s contract; after he met Derek; after he learned exactly how different it is, to fuck someone on screen when the other person doesn’t even _know_ that the world could be watching. Now Stiles knows all these things, but he doesn’t know what to do.

He can’t take back what he’s done – everything is aired live, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week – but Stiles’ greatest concern isn’t even for the footage of him and Derek in bed. The small moments, the intimate ones like now are more precious, yes, but that’s not what eats at Stiles’ consciousness, day in and day out. It’s that Stiles knows The Truth – something so big that it demands capitals – that he holds the power to shatter Derek’s world with just a few words.

Mostly, what stands between Derek and The Truth is a series of airtight contracts drawn up with each actor and the loyal crew that worship the ground Gerard walks on, but there is nothing physically stopping Stiles from blurting everything out at any given moment. What’s stopping him is the threat of horrible legal consequences and the possible disdain of every living human on Earth, and Stiles includes Derek in that count, because while Stiles was raised to value truth, he also knows that ignorance can be bliss.

Maybe Derek’s entire life is a lie, but as it stands, Derek lives a safer life than many other abandoned children get. Derek was never put through foster care. Derek was never at risk for negligence or abuse, emotional or physical from his adoptive family. Derek will never go hungry and he will never know the hardship of poverty. Derek will never be without shelter, gainful employment, or companionship. Derek will always be cared for, even if he doesn’t know it. All it costs him is a little pain now and then – same as any other person – a little drama to keep the viewers entertained, and Derek is loved by the whole world.

Then again, Stiles might just be feeding himself false comfort. Even if it’s all a lie and Derek is never truly in danger, Derek doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that he will never go hungry; that he won’t ever have to live on the streets. He doesn’t know that he’s not alone. He doesn’t know that he’s loved.

What Derek knows – what he believes – is that he was born into a large and happy family that cherished him. What Derek believes is that most of them burned to death in a house fire six years ago. What Derek believes is that his uncle is a burn victim in a long-term care centre and that his sister is an addict in rehab.

Sometimes, Stiles thinks that it’s more pain than the safety is worth, but who can say Derek wouldn’t have suffered just as much outside of the Hale Show? Who can tell what effect The Truth could have on Derek? What guarantee is there that a revelation would be right, that Stiles won’t destroy what happiness Derek has left by revealing The Truth?     

“Derek,” Stiles softly calls, wishing there were an easy answer to all his questions.

Derek mumbles nonsense into Stiles’ collarbone and his grip firms around Stiles’ bare waist. The way Stiles arranged the pillows and sheets provide cover from most of the hidden cameras, but there’s nothing Stiles can do about the one hidden in the light fixture above the bed. He can’t even glare at it, knowing Gerard will just scold him for breaking the fourth wall, and Stiles can’t bear hearing Gerard’s voice in his ear right now.

“Derek,” he calls again, but Derek doesn’t wake from his dream, and Stiles doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. There’s so much that Stiles wants to tell Derek, to speak into the waiting shell of his ear, and not everything relates to The Truth, but none of it has been approved by Gerard. The relationship between him and Derek isn’t even supposed to be well developed. Stiles isn’t supposed to be much more than a bed warmer for Derek to pass the time with, but things change and patterns are broken. Derek doesn’t normally let his hook-ups stay through the night, and yet here Stiles is, and he has to believe it means something.

Stiles has always toed the line, bending and stretching it to suit his own needs. Here and now, Stiles doesn’t give a damn about how things are “supposed to be.” The Hale Show is a work of fiction, and being an actor in it isn’t going to stop Stiles from trying on the role of writer. Stiles is going to fight every step of the way to shape this world. He’s going to be more than Possible Love Interest #3. Much more.

Maybe Stiles doesn’t have the right to decide what’s best, but he can give Derek one thing. He can give Derek something true.        

            

**Author's Note:**

> Should I write more?


End file.
